


treasure of the ocean

by romanticai (sinjaebeom)



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 乐华七子NEXT | NEX7, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Geisha, Japanese Culture, Light Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Samurai, basically xukun as a samurai and zhengting as a geisha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 15:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinjaebeom/pseuds/romanticai
Summary: love, sometimes, is just another way to spell art.





	treasure of the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer** : i've tried to be as historically accurate as possible, but there might be imprecise pieces of information nevertheless. the events are purely fictional. 
> 
> **notice** : _geiko_ is what _geisha_ are called in Kyōto.

_Kyōto, Tokugawa era_

most people know that we never actually forget anything. because the human mind lives in the ever-present and so do the eyes. most people would call this nostalgia, zhu zhenting called it art. he lived in the moment and, as long as he could perform, he considered himself satisfied. with just the hint of forbidden hidden beneath the candour of his wrists, he could disarm people from all kinds of background. it was an art he was born to dedicate his life to.

the first thing zhengting remembered was not being called zhengting. he had been renamed by his owners as soon as he was brought into their house as a baby and had found out about his real name by chance years later. his owner, a middle-aged woman that everyone in the house called mother, had been calling him eitaro, “ _great hero_ ”, for so long that it had taken him countless tries to wrap his head around his real name. he couldn’t reveal it to any living soul – _“if anyone finds out you’re a foreigner, you won’t be able to live thanks to the magic of your mystery, which means you will end up not living at all”_ warned him the mother – but, inside, he basked in the joy of the discovery. he wasn’t just an ink smudge on blank paper: there was someone behind his existence and that felt reassuring. he made sure to become even more obedient after that day, so that maybe the mother would have allowed him to know more about himself. that never happened, in the end.

the second thing zhengting remembered was his future. the mother had once gathered him and his housemates to explain who they were going to become. _“you will be_ _geiko_ _”_ , she said, _“this means you are going to be artists who can hold the weight of the world in their eyes and exchange it with pearls”._ nobody had understood what she had said that day, but they had all listened attentively as she carefully described how she had chosen each of them for their potential. those words successfully convinced zhengting that he wasn’t just a housekeeper, that he was born to become a dancing fairy and he loved the idea of it. for a few years before his training started, that had been enough to keep him smiling through many consecutive winters. he moved his feet to any rhythm he could hear, be it the cicadas’ laughter or the rolling of the carts in the streets. he never knew the mother watched him every time with satisfaction, knowing he would turn into a very precious treasure.

the third thing zhengting remembered was water. when he was still training as a _maiko_ , one night he fled from the teahouse he had been working in and found himself stumbling into Lake Biwa. it was a common sight to most inhabitants of the Gion region, but he had never had the chance to see it with his own two eyes. as he watched the moon draw memories and feelings in the water, zhengting decided he loved the calming charm of the colour blue. as if in a trance, he removed his pompous clothing and immerged himself in the freezing embrace of the lake. that was the night he came to fully understand the ideal of _ukiyo_ he was so insistently reminded of every day, how it determined every aspect of his and everyone else’s existence: nothing mattered. they lived in a world that hopelessly floated and everything was futile except beauty, balsam of the soul. nothing mattered. not the expensive _kimono_ , not the tinted lips, not the carefully-crafted witty comebacks. not the whipping he was punished with the following day, not the hometown he would have never learned the name of, not the mother he truly wished to call such. what mattered was his heart and what it beat faster for. the way he danced that left every mouth hanging, a sea of fishes gasping for air. the ocean and the way it bore salt as both a defence mechanism and a healing system. the way he, who was born in alien waters, was one with them.

when zhengting realised he was substantially different from the other _maiko_ it was a rainy november night. a lot of the shogunate _samurai_ and high-calibre functionaries were gathered at Kasagiya teahouse and they had requested for “the least boring” _geiko_ ’s company. the mother had personally taken care of zhengting’s attire for the event, patiently making sure nothing was out of place. it wasn’t something she would usually do for the other trainees, but she wanted zhengting to look especially beautiful. before leaving, she reminded him of one of their lessons. _feed the head, please the eye_ , the boy rehearsed in his mind. when he caught sight of his face in the mirror of his chamber, he gasped. his oak eyes were rimmed with red and black, koi fishes dancing around a desert island; his cheeks a paler shade of Kyōto during spring. then it was snow all around. zhengting thought he looked like one of utagawa hiroshige’s woodblock prints, but he couldn’t pinpoint which one. 

as the night slowly unravelled around _sake_ and small talk, some of the _samurai_ started drunkenly bickering about loud nothings. most of the _geiko_ were whispering sweet nothings into the ears of the few patrons who could still distinguish a person from a bottle. zhengting wondered why he felt like he was holding his breath in a room full of smoke. all of a sudden, one of the warriors rose up from his seat and raised his right hand to gather the presents’ attention on what he was about to say. he suggested a dare to the artists; a night as a king would have been the reward for the most deserving dancer. everyone’s eyes were on him and although they tried not to show just how badly his words had affected them, a furious eagerness hardened their features. they were all sons of the same demons, zhengting thought, sand and ash and the bad taste a half kiss leaves in your mouth: too fatuous, too volatile. with the smell of burnt matter spreading around as if it were real, zhengting decided he would have performed last. his _geiko_ etiquette didn’t condone missing such a chance.

all of them danced – some timidly, some frantically. they all did well, but it was obvious how they had put aside their teacher’s lessons completely. she used to say that a performance was successful when it was carried out with no ulterior motive, when all the dancer cared about was dancing. _“learn the difference between art with a message and art for art’s sake”_ , she had told them once, _“both are good, but while the former best suits a book, the latter should be every dancer’s aim”_. zhengting had taken that by heart. if he had to be eitaro, an artist, and himself, then dancing would have been the _fil rouge_ between the three, the motherly sea to the river that he was. so he danced the night away. he freed his lungs from smoke, brushed away the ash, made the sand twirl along with his spindly limbs. he made those watching wish he was a bit more human, so that they could have him. but he wasn’t: he was one with the rain, for the time being. he didn’t know what he was doing, he was just moving. art for art’s sake. the clamour of a crowd of hands clapping enthusiastically ended up awaking the whole district.

*

he was not sure how it happened, but his name ran from mouth to mouth until it reached the imperial court. from their _hanamachi_ , one of the most well-known art districts, voices and whispers about an unearthly beauty flowed into the _shōgun_ ’s ears and he couldn’t believe his eyes when he found himself face-to-face with a real-life masterpiece. zhengting’s ethereal attributes put a spell on any guest, casual or habitual, that visited Kasagiya’s teahouse which made his fame quickly sky-rocket. the artist was torn between humble gratefulness and a sense of impending collateral damage. he knew that the choice of his _dan’na_ , his one and only source of financial support, wasn’t something he could meddle in, but he still hoped to bend the right person’s will into taking him under his wing. most importantly, he had to save himself from _shōgun_ ienari’s dubious probity. he was widely renowned for being an impulsive ruler and doing as he pleased in spite of the law, but his attitude towards what he considered his – which included his countless lovers – was nightmarish.

as zhengting worried over a destiny he thought he couldn’t control, a young _samurai,_ seemingly uninterested in anyone and anything, caught his attention. his marble jaw and tormented gaze created a paradoxical complex with his soft lips. he looked like a sleeping volcano, boiling ablaze. like everything zhengting didn’t want but knew he could tame. drowning out every sound in the room, he focused on the warrior hoping to meet his eyes. they exchanged a glance, after a while, and zhengting took the other’s unwillingness to turn as a sign to move towards his table. under other circumstances, he would have never acted so impulsively, but the _shōgun_ ’s advances had been as frequent as they had been insistent, and he was starting to panic. his mother would have been more than glad to have seen him settle at the imperial palace, but the dancer was certain no amount of gold was going to make it feel even vaguely tolerable. as he waited for the right moment to barge in the conversation, the _geiko_ learned the young _samurai_ ’s name was cai xukun, he was a trusted war counsellor close to the _shōgun_ himself, and his voice sounded both like booming thunder and expensive silk.

“beauty is as trivial as it is immaterial; it is dead or dies just like anything else that is worshipped”, said xukun, sceptically.

zhengting looked at the man sitting on the other side of the table intently. how could a young _samurai_ with such a polished mind hold a grudge against the only aspect of life that didn’t hurt? Japan’s cultural scene was flourishing, traditionalism meant lying in wait to just die. if xukun was determined to bring drought where art thrived, then zhengting would have watered the soil, even with his own tears. he was sure a man like him would have remembered someone contradicting him for a long time.

“sir cai, beauty exists in nature and thus never dies; people die. _we_ die” – replied zhengting softly, but without wavering – “and that’s what poisons your words”

“it’s not poison if it’s true. and, even if it were, it’d mean everything’s neck-deep in its toxic waves”

“sometimes the truth can hurt more than a lie”

“and i’d rather die than be deceived”, rebutted the young man, a faraway scorching trembling in his earthbound irises. the entire table quieted for a moment before dispensing praises to the _samurai_ for his unwavering morals. the _geiko_ silently acknowledged how much more interested he was in the man now that he had seen a bit of his heart.

he felt as if he were standing in front of this complicated painting and could recognise its hidden plots but not decrypt their meanings. symbolism was his forte and yet cai xukun defied all rules of logic to exist as a romantic metaphor. zhengting couldn’t help but look at him and see poetry. which, depending on whether he looked at the situation as eitaro or himself, could be either useful or beautiful.

as the night slowly faded and the day flared up in a triumph of light blues and pinks, zhengting danced gracefully, as he always did, and hoped for nothing more than to melt with the dawn. when his brothers and he were done with the performance, the patrons collected themselves and their belongings before stepping into the real world again. after the usual cheering and farewells, the _geiko_ hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with the _samurai_ again. but he did the following day and the one after that and every time he stepped into Kasagiya – he was there, perhaps waiting for something to happen, perhaps looking for a reason to leave. it was probably both things, zhengting decided as he poured tea into xukun’s cup. he just wanted to make sure he waited long enough not to leave empty-handed.

“how do you do it?”, suddenly asked the warrior.

“do what, sir cai?”, inquired the _geiko_ with a puzzled expression on his face.

“dance like that, like you have no body or mind. like you’re not a person, just music”

his words were lilting and oblique, like they came from the core of the earth itself and spread fast and defiantly like sickness. zhengting thought he was probably already infected or there would be nothing explaining his fascination.

“i am not sure either. i practiced for years to learn how to be natural on stage, i must have been taught really well if even patrons appreciate it”

“i sure do. you are the most talented artist i’ve had the pleasure to see perform in a long time and i just can’t wrap my head around just what it is that i like so much about you”

zhengting looked at him cautiously at first, but when he noticed the other’s earnest expression, he relaxed into his seat and talked freely.

“it might be that beauty isn’t so devoid of purpose, perhaps? because art stems from it and it seems to be doing more miracles than any god ever did”

xukun stared at his face in delightful bewilderment. there was a short silence before the warrior spoke again.

“i will be looking forward to your performance at the grand gala, eitaro”, he eventually said, the _geiko_ ’s name rolling off his tongue like love confessions after too much alcohol: so easily, so sweetly.

*

the grand gala was an annual event only the most eminent characters of the high-society could attend and, as a matter of fact, the most elitist gathering of _sake_ -suckers in the entire Kansai region.

zhengting, as the brightest gem of his _hanamachi_ , had been invited by not only a flock of different ministers and _samurai_ , but the _shōgun_ himself. his mother had been so overwhelmed by the number of letters that she wouldn’t stop praising him and reminding him that _“with great recognition come greater responsibilities”_. it was in moments like that that zhengting realised just why he was given the name eitaro. his oldest brothers had all been invited too, but, sadly, none from his same year class was there and the artist only learned about that when he stepped into the celebration’s venue.

“does this mean that none of them will attend the grand gala at all?”, asked zhengting while trying his best to hide his disappointment. he didn’t want his brothers to miss out on such an opportunity and, besides, he could have used their reassuring company to dispel the tension that the high-end event full of starving crocodiles was building up inside his chest.

“i do not like the way they dance” – chimed in general miyamoto – “it looks too artificial, manufactured”. he made a pause and seemed to be amusedly pondering his next words.

“eitaro, if you can give me any good reason why i should invite them, i will”, concluded the general. as soon as the daring demand was out, all eyes and ears turned expectantly towards zhengting. xukun subtly smirked, knowing full well how hard it was to impress someone like the general. and the room was full of people like him. the _geiko_ caught the malicious glint on his face and that was enough to grant him the sort of determination natural disasters own. xukun was so confident he could bring the sun down to earth if he tried, but zhengting knew that meant fire. he would have come out unscathed: un-burning was his condition of existence. he briefly scanned the room, then fixed his gaze on general miyamoto, who flinched in surprise: in the young man’s eyes howled a _tsunami_.

“an artist is expected by its audience to be perfect at all times, which means we never really conclude our training, not even after the _erikae_. our life is based on dance as much as it resembles it: a constant flux of words, visions, colours, faces. it’s like pirouetting in a room full of _origami_ , each bearing a memory, and bringing them to life by grazing the paper with the tip of our fingers. the shapes and contents change for everyone while time defines and redefines them endlessly”, zhengting paused to smile sweetly at no one, but for everyone. _feed the head, please the eye_ , he recalled.

“as contradictory as it may sound, perfection cannot be standardised: a careful and well-thought dance move may look different from a fluid and more instinctive one, but that shouldn’t determine the imperfection of it. if it did, it would mean there is only one person in this room who is worthy of being remembered…”

general miyamoto had ended up inviting most of zhengting’s colleagues. after praising him – _“as expected of Gion’s most precious treasure”_ – he had asked the young man to name the ones with the most sublime taste and the artist had delivered satisfyingly. xukun analysed the situation before him with an incredulous face. never had he ever gotten such a powerfully positive impression from someone, let alone a _geiko._ he didn’t think badly of the artists, but his innate repulsion for anything impractical had made him immune to their magic. zhengting felt xukun’s gaze on him and turned around, smiling cheekily. the warrior was looking at him with respect and the artist couldn’t have been more satisfied.

“so you do know a thing or two about rhetoric”, said xukun in a slightly teasing manner as soon as he could get near him.

“god only knows it’s the only thing i’ve been truly blessed with at birth, sir cai”

xukun’s pleased snicker told zhengting he hadn’t missed the irony that laced his reply. they spent the night mostly in each other’s area of sight and the _samurai_ made sure to leave the most generous tip for zhengting when the celebration was over. right before leaving, xukun approached zhengting again for the last time.

“i think you’ve put a spell on me” – that impromptu revelation effectively caught zhengting’s full attention – “and i don’t want it to break. ever.”

the heaviness of the moment was feather-like to the _geiko_ , his eyes sparkling with the midnight moonlight, his head spinning as if he were still dancing. xukun’s eyes mirrored that special glint, though zhengting was sure it was of a completely different, if not opposite, nature. _this can be either useful or beautiful_ , the artist recalled from their first meeting. he wanted both, xukun would have surely said both wasn’t an option. the thrill that ran down zhengting’s spine reminded him of the unkindness of january.

the following day, in an expectedly unexpected way, cai xukun briefly put his pride aside and asked zhengting’s mother to formally become his _dan’na_ , promising he would have taken care of all the expenses the artist’s lifestyle entailed. _“as long as he keeps dancing, i would cross countries to meet him halfway”_ , xukun’s letter recited. feelings, in such a revered _hanamachi_ , could be such rare and intricate birds that even mentioning a vague infatuation would have caused an out-of-proportion fluttering which a _geiko_ ’s reputation could only suffer from; a wind that blows so fiercely is sure to damage even the oldest of oaks. but xukun was a verse with a pulse and how can one just hate a love poem?

the mother accepted right away and zhengting could finally breathe again knowing he was safe for good.

*

zhengting knew his boundaries. xukun had gifted him three tailor-made _kimono_ and he had danced thrice with close to nothing covering his skin. xukun had gifted him flowers and tea and hair accessories and he had kissed the raging fury out of him. xukun was everything zhengting didn’t want – all flesh and blood and suffocated moans – but he knew how to keep him grounded and xukun wanted that. they adored each other the way children adore art, so unaware yet so genuinely.

zhengting knew his boundaries and that was exactly why he crossed them. he didn’t owe xukun his body, he didn’t owe xukun _anything_ besides performances and gratitude, but before being eitaro he was zhengting, and before being zhengting he was human, all skin and goosebumps and hopeful eyes and hushed laughter and wanting to be held, kissed, loved. being with him felt like being nullified by rapid fire, but it was so worth it that he didn’t regret a single sting. xukun was everything he didn’t want, but oh, did he need him to feel alive.

sometimes it felt more like the sun on slow spring days and less like walking on the edge of no return; more like a soft breeze that blows out candles and less like a punch that knocks the air out of you. as delicate and sweet as zhengting learned xukun could be. they floated discreetly around each other, wishing time could bless them with the eternal embrace of youth. and just like in every other fairy-tale, zhengting soon met his own demon, in the form of _shōgun_ ienari. he seemed so hell-bent on stealing the idyll from him that he actually came up with a sensible plan to do so; which, of course, implied riling xukun up just enough that he committed a fatal or, worse, stupid mistake. zhengting felt, once again, powerless—robbed of his own future.

the night xukun told him the following day he was heading to the imperial court for a strategy meeting, the _geiko_ knew what was coming and made sure his patron’s cup never ran out of wine. the _samurai_ sensed the tension after the third refill. they were in his chamber, which allowed them more privacy, so he took the plunge and jumped right to the core of the issue.

“nothing’s gonna happen, zhengting”, murmured the soldier as calmly as he could. which was, he discovered, something he could do easily when the artist was around. he wasn’t too sure himself what was going to happen, especially considering the _shōgun_ ’s renown tantrums, but after heaving out the options, he figured attending would have been best, for the both of them.

“you know how the _shōgun_ likes… _owning_ all he likes, yeah?”, said zhengting after a while, the sour stretch in his voice not going unnoticed. xukun simply nodded, which prompted the other to continue.

“i think he’s had his eyes on me for a while and i’ve been taught it wouldn’t be smart to contradict him”

xukun knew zhengting didn’t like talking about politics: he preferred not to know all the details and avoided expressing opinions which might have been held against him by much more powerful and wicked men. it was something that didn’t sit well with him, though. most thought well of his cluelessness in regard to the inner workings of their country, but he had seen how beautiful zhengting’s voice was when he talked about things he enjoyed, how the pitch would be slightly higher and the pace a bit erratic, as if passion made his heart run seconds-long marathons.

it was like that when he talked about him, too, he had noticed. at first it had been imperceptible, just a flicker of something in his irises that made xukun’s own eyes light up in curiosity. after becoming his _dan’na_ and proving to be an actual decent person, zhengting just wouldn’t stop throwing around praises about him, no matter who it was that asked him. and it wasn’t the usual ass-licking xukun was used to, it was truthful and so visceral that xukun had been almost moved to tears a couple of times. it felt so natural, being admired and respected deeply by zhengting, because he reciprocated the feeling whole-heartedly.

“i won’t let him take you just like that, ‘ting” – the nickname made zhengting’s cheeks flush under his make-up – “you’re a person, not furniture”

the _geiko_ looked at him earnestly, studying his handsome features as his lips broke into a smile. suddenly, he was up on his feet and scurrying over the entrance door to get his sandals.

“do you like swimming, sir cai?”

xukun blinked in surprise for a moment before nodding slowly, even though zhengting couldn’t possibly see him from where he stood in the hallway.

“yeah, i do” – he said after clearing his throat – “and stop calling me _sir cai_ when we’re in private. it makes me feel old and…”

“exploitative?”, suggested the younger to fill in xukun’s hesitation. the latter rolled his eyes and grinned.

“yeah, something along that line, i suppose”

“look at all the big words he’s flaunting around—! ladies and gentlemen, that was the most promising and wilful _samurai_ of our generation for you”, joked the artist.

“i was just trying to be proper”

“you’re _always_ trying to be proper” – zhengting replied with a snort, not missing a beat – “but some things are better off… rough, you know? _raw_ ”

the look he threw xukun’s way, he was sure, was borderline illegal, but both of them were beyond caring for niceties at that point. they enjoyed playing games like that, teasing and being teased, so he carried on unabashedly.

“i beg to differ”, xukun stated in a clear voice.

at that, zhengting, who had just come back into the room to fix his hair and remove his usual make-up in favour of a more natural look, dropped to his knees in front of him and stared deep into his eyes as he whispered: “then beg”.

it was a whirlwind of laughter and limbs and quick feet hopping through trees and pebbles before coming into contact with freezing water. the _geiko_ immediately relaxed as he let xukun embrace him.

the water lulled them gently and from far away it looked like they were swaying to Nature’s music.

*

“eitaro, i don’t care that politics isn’t part of your duties; it’s part of mine and i want to discuss it”, spouted xukun, his words marked by fierce gestures. zhengting had never seen him so furious, but a voice inside him whispered that it was the inevitable fate of going against a dictator. he had known the council meeting had gone wrong as soon as it had happened. it was only voices at first, the numb buzz of a crowd too big in a place too small with music played too loud. then, he had seen the notices hung around town – _cai xukun is a traitor. wanted. whoever finds him, dead or alive, will be rewarded._ – and it would have given him a heart attack if he hadn’t found xukun in his house when he went looking for him.

“there’s a price on your head and you’re just – _chilling_ at home?”, asked zhengting, his voice betraying the panic he felt stirring inside.

“good evening to you too, sweetheart”, said xukun as he took another sip from the glass he was holding. zhengting threw at him the most exasperated look he could manage before debating internally on whether turning him in to the _shōgun_ could actually be a great idea. it was far from his real intentions, but down-grading the whole ordeal to a joke eased his nerves. he exhaled in defeat when he noticed the frown on the soldier’s face, then took a seat beside him.

“i was worried”

“i’m sorry”. he sounded genuine. zhengting appreciated the effort.

“what happened?”

xukun bit his bottom lip and it would have normally struck zhengting as a nervous habit, but one glance into the _samurai_ ’s eyes and he knew he was restraining himself from bursting. the _geiko_ wished for once he would just spill instead, copiously but slowly. it would make everything easier – albeit less thrilling, but it wasn’t something zhengting could focus on in that moment. he told himself he simply had to pull the right strings and put xukun’s anger at bay for the night, let the sea placidly undo the burning.

“if you don’t want to tell me what happened, at least tell me how to make you feel better”, calmly asked zhengting. xukun hesitated for an instant more before speaking.

“what do you think of _shōgun_ ienari?”

zhengting blinked in confusion. hadn’t he made it clear enough in the past that he hated the man’s guts? he hadn’t been too explicit or vulgar, but he knew xukun knew; so what was he trying to get out of him?

“i think he is the _shōgun_ even though he doesn’t deserve it”, zhengting repeated while giving xukun a look halfway between serious and cautious. xukun balled his hands up into fists.

“yeah… he’s the undiscussed leader of this country and doesn’t know the first thing about rulership. fuck, he probably couldn’t hold a weapon even if he tried,” – he paused, glass discarded on the desk under the window behind him as he turned completely towards zhengting – “what i’m asking, though, is if you have heard the… rumours”

“yes, i have. still doesn’t change the fact i want _you_ to explain how it all went down”

“comment on them”, insisted the _samurai_ , completely ignoring zhengting’s reply. the artist took up the gauntlet, mirroring the other man’s attitude.

“i don’t remember any of the confucian teachings mention something so immoral as frequenting nine hundred women—”

“ _zhengting_ ”, xukun seethed. zhengting sighed.

“i know this is not what you want to hear. you want me to say you did the right thing by butchering the _shōgun_ ’s attempts to generate a civil war despite having been deposed for it and thus having lost the only thing you probably ever cared about”. zhengting paused in order to let xukun assimilate the blow. he took the other’s fleeting eyes as a sign that the gossips were true. he didn’t know how to feel about that.

“i do think it was morally right and i find it admirable that you challenged him for the sake of the capital… but look how much it costed you”, softly added the young man.

as xukun watched the _geiko_ sitting on his knees in front of him, he felt the sudden urge to cry and allow the night to finally be quiet. he lowered his gaze to the floor. you can tell a lion is truly defeated not by the cage he’s forced into, but by the loss of its mane. zhengting considered the weight of his hand for a moment before gently caressing the other man’s head. how could a man be so scared of dying and yet constantly pick at life’s tender skin? the way people choose to fight their monsters, as well as when they decide to do so, stands as one of the most obscure mysteries. it puts things in perspective, though, knowing that we can always rely on ourselves to turn on the light.

“i think i’ve made a mistake”, murmured xukun.

“no, you don’t. you regret the consequences, not what they derive from. you did the right thing, xukun, you’ll just have to find a way out of this, too”

zhengting knew very well there wasn’t a way out of that mess. not one that wouldn’t have proved to be illegal, dangerous, or painful. out of those, painful was possibly the best option – which truly said it all. in an abscess of despair, he hugged xukun. his robes rode up his thigh: he was wearing a light _kimono,_ despite the cold weight of the nights in Kyōto, and no make-up at all; he was lucky he hadn’t been noticed in the streets.

everything about that moment was impetuous and unrefined, foreign to a _geiko_ ’s attitude. but he liked foreign. he liked different and faraway. maybe because he had never belonged: came from far away in a dream and stayed to live it out. that was why people liked him, because he knew how to be familiar and unknown at the same time and without saying a word. xukun didn’t mind melting in his arms. maybe because he, too, didn’t belong. he had once and almost surely to the artist’s same land. that was why he liked zhengting, because he felt like home and homesick at the same time.

“it’s not the only thing i care about”, murmured xukun after a while.

“what?”, the hopeless haziness in zhengting’s mind made it hard for him to follow.

“you said my title was the only thing i cared about and now i’m desperate because i have nothing” – zhengting hit his shoulder playfully, _“i never said the second part!”_ , but xukun carried on anyway, his forehead in the crook of the other’s neck – “but it’s not and i am not”. zhengting hummed in acknowledgement, a bit expectant and a bit scared of what might come out next from the _samurai_ ’s mouth.

“i don’t know who i have to thank for this, but i’m so glad i have met you”

it was a whisper, a tentative first bite of sentence, but zhengting heard him, clear as night skies at the end of summer. he sighed contentedly.

“see how nice you can be when you’re not pessimistic?”, joked bleakly the artist while dragging his fingers slowly up and down xukun’s back. the latter snorted and raised his head to meet the other man’s eyes.

“i guess you’ll have to keep reminding me for a while”, he said, defiantly and burning burning _burning_ like only he could.

zhengting smiled before pressing their lips together.

_i will._

**Author's Note:**

> low-case and random capitalization are absolutely intentional. 
> 
> **edit:** title and description adjourned.  
>  previously titled:「海に属していた芸子の物語」/ 02.01.19
> 
> hope you enjoyed! we can chat on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sinjaebeom) if you'd like xx


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